Chicken Challenges This Time Around

May comes, and I fall off the blog roll. Spring is just such a busy time of year on the farm. It's hard to come in when the light keeps me outside, thinking I can do a little more weeding, a little more planting... whatever. It's amazing how time gets gobbled up just puttering around, doing what seems like nothing but really adds up to something when you put it all together (like shelving my garden tools so I can find them again next time).

Anyway, with that as a beginning, I've been meaning to tell you all about some of the challenges we faced with our most recent crop of chickens (acquired March 23rd, harvested last week, this coming Monday (June 6th), and again in another 10 days or so... you'll see what I mean if you keep reading).

The first wrinkle began before we even ordered our chicks. The hatchery we ordered from last year had gone out of business, so Milan made more than a couple dozen phone calls to various hatcheries and resellers trying to get a batch of 100 White Cornish X chicks. Of course, we could always order from Murray McMurray, right? Yes, but one of our values is "local", and although the term is now almost as over-used and diluted as "free-range", to us, Iowa ain't local. I know they are a great hatchery in many respects, but it's hard for us to think of 100 little chickens traveling 2,000 miles without food or water. Call us softies, if you like. That left us with few options for getting 100 chicks at once, so we settled on getting them through our local Grange Coop (still, their chicks come from some hatchery in Texas -- not so local, either).

When our order arrived, we drove to Grants Pass to pick up 100 White Cornish X and 12 Red Cornish X (see"A Little Experiment: Part 1" and "A Little Experiment: Part 2"). At that point, it was clear that there were multiple ages of chickens in the box. Some were a good five-to-six days old, as they had lost their fluff and had their wing feathers in. Others were clearly only day-old chicks (as was the case with all 12 Red Cornish X birds).

The challenge of multiple ages is one that plagues the batch throughout its entire cycle. Plainly, older chickens are bigger and shove out the smaller ones to the point where the big just keep getting bigger and bigger and the small ones stay small because they can't bully their way past the bullies. This applies to both food and heat. We lost a couple of the smallest chickens early on to being crushed by their peers as they sought heat underneath the hover. Again, this was probably a result of multiple inputs: cold nights, not eating enough to get strong, not drinking enough to be well hydrated, etc., but then to be bullied out to the edge of the heat, well, that ends it. Chicks, and particularly the White Cornish birds, are anything but robust. Miss one element of their needs and it's curtains for them. They essentially give up, which comports with their manifested lazy nature as adults. It was such a striking contrast to me to watch the little Canada Goose gosling bounce back from his ordeal (see my post titled "One Little Gosling's Undesired Adventure"). A White Cornish X chicken would never have fought that hard to survive, and even if it would have fought to survive, would have probably crawled into a bush and died of exhaustion after being released.

As time passes, the big continue to get bigger, so they need to be harvested sooner. We harvest our White Cornish birds at 9 weeks. This time around, it meant we had to have two harvest days -- one last Sunday, May 30th, and one coming up June 6th. Actually, we'll even have a third harvest day to process the Red Cornish X birds, which don't grow as quickly and don't convert feed as well. Having them this go-round was an experiment on our part, and it's clear they cannot be raised with the Whites, which have to be ration-fed to even live to nine weeks of age (commercial facilities process their birds at 6 weeks of age because that's about when they start dying anyway, as their skeletal structure and organs begin to fail due to their incredible weight -- think of them as 200-lb human two-year-olds). The Reds, on the other hand, at 9 weeks of age and ration feeding, feel like the classic "rubber chicken" when you pick them up: the breast-bone protrudes way out and they feel like nothing but feathers. They need to be free-fed and grown to 10-12 weeks of age.

Setting up these harvest days is no small matter, so having to do three of them for one batch of 100 birds is deflating. We harvested the 50 oldest birds last Sunday, will do another 28 on Monday, and the remaining 10 Red Cornish birds... well, we're not even sure yet when we'll do those. Maybe in another 10 days or so, like I speculated in the beginning of this post.

The next and more depressing challenge we experienced with this batch of chickens was something we didn't even consider before we were faced with it. As I said, the first wrinkle was not being able to get our chicks from the same hatchery we patronized last year (Lazy 54 Hatchery in Hubbard, Oregon). Apparently, they had great chicks, because we never had a one with any obvious genetic issues. Well, that changed this time around. The genetics on this batch of White Cornish X was bad. We started to notice it around 4 and 5 weeks of age: more and more birds were turning up with legs turned out at crazy angles or crumpled feet. A few died for no discernible reason, so we suspect there were internal manifestations of their poor genetics to blame. Milan watched a few weaken and would always put them in the sick bay and give them special attention for a few days. Only two such chickens rallied; the others went down hill to the point that Milan put them out of their misery (did someone say farm life is "romantic"?!). In the end, we had over 20% loss for this batch, which is a horribly high number. Industry average is 10%, and we had less than 5% all last year!

White Cornish X with deformed feet.

Here's an example of the crumpled feet, and this isn't even such a bad one. The bad ones didn't make it past 6-7 weeks; this one is 9 weeks old (photo taken the day before harvest).

Suffice it to say, it's been a tough road this Spring. Even though we realize some things were out of our control, we feel responsible for the birds we lost, not to mention that it's hard to tell our customers we can't fill their orders this time around. We usually have 5-6 birds as back up, but we've long blown through those and are telling folks that ordered 5 to expect 2.  Not a message I like to deliver.

As a result of all this, we will probably move away entirely from raising the White Cornish X breed.  We were optimistic after raising them last year.  Some of last year's got as old as 12 weeks and were still up, pecking and scratching, hale and hardy, with all their feathers intact on their breasts (they're often featherless there because their breasts get so heavy they can't stand up, so their feathers fall out and don't grow back and as a result, the breast skin gets really dirty), but we must have just been lucky to get 200 really healthy ones.  This year was just a whole different story, and reminded us that the White Cornish X is a bird that's been highly bred and re-bred specifically for the Foster Farms situation: sitting in a cage in front of a feed trough (that's never empty) for 6 weeks of life.  Here's a good visual of how chickens have changed to meet the Foster Farms standard in the last 50+ years (courtesy of Nature's Harmony Farm in Elberton, Georgia):

White Cornish X at 68 days old in 1950, vs. 47 days old in 2008.

Pretty incredible, isn't it?

So, expect to hear more about Red Cornish X birds in the future, and maybe even Freedom Rangers at Sojourn Farms.  To all our loyal customers, thanks for sticking with us through our learning process.  We really are trying very hard to raise healthy, happy, free-range, organic, pastured chickens.  It's not always easy and definitely not glamorous, but hearing how much you appreciate our efforts means a lot to us.

One Little Gosling's Undesired Adventure

I was recently reminded again about the consequences of involving oneself in certain elements of nature.  Our ranch hand was out and about when he found 4 little Canada Goose goslings.  Out of interest, innocence and definitely some thoughtlessness but certainly not malicious intentions, he picked one up and brought it up to the house to show to Jack.  Since Jack was down for a nap, that didn't happen, and very quickly, Milan and Darin decided they needed to get going to town or they would be late for an appointment.  Darin went to "put the goose back".

I felt bad about it already.  Here was that poor little goose, grabbed away from its brothers and sisters, not to mention his parents, and being paraded around for us to ogle.  And, I'm sorry to say, I did: admire his lovely coloring, his delicate features, his cute, but very plaintive and pleading little peeps.  I even took a couple pictures.

Being in a hurry, Darin put the gosling down in the shop yard, across a ditch and quite a ways from where he found the little guy originally.  No parents or siblings were in sight.  When Milan discovered the situation, he was furious.  Although he doesn't like Canada Geese living here (farmers call them "rats of the air" because they can eat an incredible amount of new grass before the cattle can and cost farmers a lot of money), he will viciously condemn anyone without even batting an eyelash for placing animals in suffering, even potential suffering.  He asked Darin, "Don't you think he'll just die out there?"  To which Darin answered, "Probably."

Now, I know Darin.  He is not heartless and cruel.  He is gentle and kind to his horse and very sweet and friendly with our stand-offish dog, Cash.  He's a very good, upright, moral, hard-working, kind and seeking-to-be-righteous person.  He is the best ranch hand ever -- very conscientious and thorough, very invested and interested.  So, what happened?

I think it happens to all of us.  We get carried away by things in life without giving them much thought.  I know it happens to me daily. Darin just wanted to let Jack see a little gosling. No harm in that. But removing the gosling from its family, well, there's harm in that. Especially for the gosling -- potentially fatal harm.  His answer to Milan's question was a surprise, even to him, as it was the first time he had stopped to think long enough about what might happen to the little gosling in the long run.

Thankfully, Milan was able to catch the gosling, but not before very much tiring the poor little panicked bird and also getting himself torn up in a blackberry thicket.  The gosling actually managed to get into the ditch leading to the pond and even dove and swam for some length under the surface trying to evade being captured again.  Soaked, scratched and furious, Milan hastily plopped the gosling into the chicken run with our 100+, then-3-week-old chicks and raced out of here to make it to his appointment. At least the gosling would be safe.

I was on the other side of the house, dusting in the back bedroom, with the windows slightly cracked and the gosling on my mind. Within minutes of Milan leaving, I heard louder than usual, insistent peeping. I went around to another window to see the little guy struggling desperately against the impenetrable (and intentionally so!) wire-welded sides of the chicken run.  I worried he wouldn't last much longer.  He would completely tire himself trying to find his family and then die of weariness.

I dropped my dusting and prayed a trek out to the ponds would find his family. Sure enough, on the far side of the barn pond, momma, daddy and three little siblings were warily watching my approach. I prayed again that they would stay there and that I wouldn't have too much trouble catching the gosling out of the chicken run.

You've seen our chicken runs. They're very low to the ground, so getting around inside is a cramped and very, very messy business. Even after a few hours, the ground has enough little chick poops on it to make crawling on all fours under there a pretty darn unsavory task. We've only had to do it on rare occasions, as the way the runs are configured allows us to do everything from the top (not to mention that because they are moved once, and later twice, a day, giving us one or two clean opportunities per day to do anything that requires crawling around on the ground). I steeled myself, and in I went.

The chickens know us as the source of their food, so they're not very shy anymore. They crawled all over me while I was in there. The little gosling, however, ran from me. I had expected this, but even so, I felt a little desperate. He could get around so much more easily than I could. What should I do? I stopped moving, and tried to honk like a goose (I wish I had a video of this part... or maybe I don't!). I guess I was somewhat convincing, because the gosling actually approached me instead of running away from me. He got just close enough for me to scoop him up. I placed him in the darkness and warmth under my coat to calm him down, knowing that the more he struggled, the smaller his chances of survival would be. He immediately snuggled in and settled down. I carefully shuffled myself out of the chicken run, one arm gently holding my coat and the little gosling in place. What a relief to get out of there!

I walked quickly down to the pond, planning my release. I wanted to get close enough for momma and daddy to hear him peeping, which I figured he would do once I removed him from under my coat. I also thought that I would probably get closer to them if I stayed across the water from the family. The gosling could swim, sound carries well over water, and it also offered a clear line of sight.

With my approach, the two adult geese starting honking, and the little bird under my coat started peeping in reply. I knelt down at the water's edge and set him free. What a sight to see him beeline for his family and his family beeline for him! My heart felt like it swelled and got warmer, watching the reunion. I tried to imagine how happy and relieved that little gosling felt, and I wondered, do geese have what we understand as those emotions, or is it just instinct?

Either way, I'm glad for how things worked out in the end. Milan was relieved and happy, upon returning from his appointment, that the gosling had been successfully reunited with his family. Milan also had a follow-up conversation with Darin about the whole situation, and Darin admitted he just hadn't thought it through enough and that he shouldn't have been so thoughtless. I'm glad for the poignant reminder we all got about the delicate balances of nature and the opportunity to share this story-with-a-happy-ending. Most of all, I'm glad the little gosling is back with his family - back where he belongs.

This photo was taken several days after the gosling was reunited with his family. I was glad to see he survived the ordeal. Part of me had worried he would be so traumatized and exhausted that he would crawl into a thicket and breathe his last, even after coming back to mom and dad. We've seen that enough with our chickens, but I should have known these little guys are MUCH hardier than domestic meat chickens (especially White Cornish X). Clearly, he's doing well, eating our grass shoots where we reseeded the ground after it was leveled last summer. This brings up again how we actually have a love-hate relationship with Canada Geese. They are incredibly good foragers, meaning they're very destructive to areas of field we're attempting to renovate. Thankfully, only a few seem to hang around, and I must admit, I enjoy seeing the goose families in the spring.